Falling Into the Sky
by JessicaJones
Summary: For many mages, Anders' revolution was the freedom they always wanted, but for one fastidious enchanter, and his chipper dwarven girlfriend, the fall of the Circle meant sudden homelessness, uncertainty, and a whole world of mosquitoes.
1. Firebrands

_This was written for the 2012 Dragon Age Big Bang on Livejournal. Please check out there, where you can see fantastic art by wadebramwilson and eyeofmantorok, or find this story on AO3. _

_Very special thanks to fluidfyre for a last minute beta._

_A few people asked about a sequel to The Romantic Adventures of Florian Phineas and this is what happened. If you haven't read that piece, the gist of it is that Finn and Dagna are perfect for each other, they like books, and they make out._

* * *

It was just after dinner and just before curfew. In a forgotten alcove at the back of the basement, Finn raised his hands and lit a small fire with his mind. Beside him, Dagna's eyes lit up like they always did when he cast magic. She had been in the Tower with him for nearly a eight years, yet every moment of magic for her was like the first time.

When she looked up, her big blue eyes filled with the same awe and affection too. After all this time it still amazed him that she had chosen him, out of all the mages she might have chosen. No one else had ever looked at him like that. It was a look that still filled him with pride, and warmth, and other things he couldn't put words to. Not in Trade, anyway.

"Ei sum cor micante umo dragonnud," he said, quoting a favorite bit of Tevinter poetry. He had never been to Tevinter, of course, the Circle would never approve a trip like that, but he had made a lifelong study of their culture. He could not flatter himself to say he was an expert. He pushed his face into her hair. "Eil amor incense."

Dagna smiled indulgently. "Nedarius. You always return to the romantics." She looked back at the fire. "Do you ever just light a fire? You know, with a flint and kindling, like the rest of us."

"No." Finn shrugged. "I know it looks impressive, but the spell is terribly simple." He had been making fire since he was six years old, and it had been rather terrifying the first time it happened, but after so many years in the Tower it was just an easy way to warm his hands. "Anyway, I wouldn't even know how to do it the normal way."

"Mmm, I don't suppose you would."

Dagna leaned back against the wall. It was the same place where she always reclined, and Finn had carefully dusted it before she arrived. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Did you—"

A clatter of metal from upstairs interrupted his question.

"What was that?" Dagna asked. She sat up straight and stared, wide eyed, at the door that opened out to the atrium. It was still closed, locked tight behind them, and the stairs that led up to it were still dark and quiet. Finn tugged her hand and pulled her back to him.

"Probably just the templars, getting ready for curfew," he said. "Which is in seventeen minutes, by the way." He trailed a finger down her arm. "I have all this beautiful poetry memorized. It would be a shame if I had to recite it alone. By myself. In my bunk."

"That would be slightly less romantic." Dagna managed a laugh. "I'm sorry, I've been so jumpy lately. It's just... after what that mage Anders did in Kirkwall..." She looked at him, and he was surprised to see genuine concern in her dark eyes. "Do you ever worry that could happen here? That our Tower could fall?"

"No. Never." Dagna seemed unconvinced, but Finn only rolled his eyes. "Kirkwall is a dreadful place. Their Circle is literally called the Gallows. As in _hanging_. Not to mention the ground is cursed by the blood of ten thousand slaves." His stomach turned just thinking about it, and Finn shook his head. "Ferelden isn't like that. We're much more reasonable."

"But there was a rebellion here once," Dagna said. "The libertarian uprising of 9:30. Uldred's revolt."

"Indeed. And yet here we are. Didn't really catch on, did it?" Finn smiled. "Anders lived here himself, you know, back in the day, and even he never blew up more than a pot of popcorn."

Which was something of an exaggeration, Anders had always been, well, _Anders_, but even so. Dagna exhaled. "You're right," she said. She relaxed against his shoulder. "It's just that my whole life, I've only wanted one thing. To be here. To study magic here in the Tower." She bit her lip. "If the something happened..."

Finn squeezed her shoulders. "Highly unlikely." Kinloch Hold had stood for two thousand years, unchanging, like a postcard from the past. It would always be there, Finn thought, just as the mystery meat they served on Thursdays would always be gray, just as Kirkwall would always be cursed, and just as Dagna would always smile indulgently when he quoted Nedarius.

Well, he hoped she would, anyway. Finn kissed her behind the ear. "Sic venev, cicaro, et fervev veil manud."

Dagna snorted. "Tevinters and their mixed metaphors," she said, but she smiled again, and then she turned to him and closed her eyes. She leaned towards him, and his heart fluttered the way it always did. There was another clatter of metal, louder now, but he ignored it. He still had at least sixteen minutes, he thought; that would probably be enough.

Then the door blew off its hinges, and it all fell apart.

-o-

Finn found himself on the floor; the explosion had knocked him to his back. He didn't know how long he'd been lying there. His ears were ringing, and his head felt like he'd been a snack for a cave troll. He tried to stand, felt unsteady, sat down again. He put his hand to his face, saw blood on his fingers. Finn felt nauseous. _What kind of healer is afraid of a little blood? _He blinked, held his nose, tried to heal himself.

"Viva la revolucion!"

He thought he caught Kinnon's voice– no one else in the Tower spoke Orlesian with that much egg– but he couldn't quite grasp what was happening. Even when the dust cleared and he saw Kinnon standing with Petra amidst the rubble, holding a pair of hammers, he still couldn't make sense of it.

He looked down; his little fire had gone out. The explosion must have swallowed it. Dagna was still sitting on the floor, blinking, her clothes covered in dust. She looked up at him. "Why..."

"Grab the phylacteries and start smashing," he thought he heard Petra, "before the templars catch on we're not in the Great Hall anymore."

Finn pushed himself to his feet. His hand found the wall and he steadied himself. Then their alcove was swarmed by a horde of filthy apprentices who smelled like fire and sweat, and there was dust and glass and coagulated mage blood everywhere. One of the apprentices stepped on his foot, leaving a print across the dragonskin. His head spun.

"What's going on?" he managed.

"We're revolting!" Kinnon proclaimed, which was true enough. "Come on, we have to break out of here before they catch on to us!"

"But..." Finn looked around, blinking the dust out of his eyes. His head was starting to clear. "But I don't want to revolt."

"I'm not even a prisoner..." Dagna added.

"Well, unless you want to die, Flora, you had better come with us," Petra said. "They're invoking the Rite of Annulment."

"It's Finn now, actually, why can't you all remember that, and… what?!" Finn gaped at her. "What in the Void did you do?"

Kinnon and Petra ran back up the stairs without answering, as Finn tried to make sense of what Petra had said. They couldn't possibly have invoked the Rite already, could they? Already? Wouldn't he have noticed if the other mages had been planning something dire?

Near the door, Finn saw a templar, his body slumped on the stone floor. Hadley. Finn went to him, instinctively drawing power from the Fade, readying a healing spell. He was going to be so annoyed when he woke up, Finn thought. He cradled the templar's head in his hands, and blue light spilled from his fingers, but nothing happened. Hadley didn't stir. Finn touched a finger to his neck, and then his blood went cold, and he let Hadley fall limply to the floor.

_Gods_, he realized, finally, as it all sank in_. So this is really happening._

Ser Hadley had been the decent sort, a friend even; he let Finn have the key to the basement whenever he wanted. The key was still in his pocket. Finn reached for it, turning it over in his hand. He realized he didn't know what to do with it now.

Dagna knelt beside him. "Is he...?" Finn nodded, and she touched his hand. "Finn, I'm so sorry." She swallowed. "But I think it would be better if nobody found you crouching over a dead templar."

Finn looked at her, and she looked back at him with wide eyes. They would kill them all for this, he realized. Even him. Apart from Hadley, the templars didn't really know Finn from a marsh witch, and he was going to get blamed along with the others.

He had to run. He wondered if he had time to go upstairs and fetch his staff Vera. Maybe his hat. Would he be able to take any of his books? The ground shook, from some magical explosion or a stampeding templar horde, Finn couldn't guess. He lost his balance. As he picked himself up he decided he could do without his hat.

"We have to go," Dagna said, tugging his hand. "Now. It isn't safe for you here."

Finn agreed. He looked to the front door, but the exit was already blocked, barred from the outside. An incandescent film of energy shimmered in the archway. Kinnon, Petra and some of the other apprentices— Finn counted eight of them, now— all stood at the doorway, and Finn went to them, Dagna beside him. Kinnon tapped the door with his finger and recoiled when it zapped him.

"A righteous barrier," Dagna said. Finn nodded; it was the same defense the templars had used during Uldred's revolt. The door was impenetrable from the inside.

"They got that up a lot faster this time, didn't they?" Petra said. Kinnon nodded, and she crossed her arms. "There goes our daring escape by rowboat."

"You do have a backup plan, though?" Finn asked.

Kinnon glanced back at him. "Um," he said. Petra grimaced.

Finn sighed. "Of course you don't." He headed towards the open hallway. "Well, come on," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "Unless you want to be annulled?"

After a moment, Kinnon nodded and the others moved to follow him. He led them down the winding hall and through the sweeping archway into the zoology section.

Kinnon frowned. "This is the library," he said.

Finn rolled his eyes. "Such stunning powers of observation, I can see why the templars fear you." He skirted an overturned table and leading them towards the east wall. The lower stacks were already in flames, and Finn let out a whimper. So many priceless volumes were already lost.

"Stone take us..." Dagna stared at the shattered rows of shelves, at the piles of ash and scorched leather that had once been their shared joy. Finn touched her shoulder; they couldn't save them. After a moment Dagna nodded, wiping her eyes, and Finn pulled himself away.

One of the bookshelves lay on its side, the wood splintered and the books scattered over the floor. With all possible care, Finn climbed over it and leaned against the wall. There should be a small indentation like a crescent moon; he remembered the illustration clearly. It was worn by time but he still found it, and he pushed until it gave. Then the wall opened up, revealing a narrow hallway.

"After you," Finn said.

Kinnon stared at him for a moment before he shut his mouth and then stepped into the tunnel. Petra and the others hurried after him. Dagna took his hand, and Finn sealed the entrance behind them. The light of the library disappeared with it, and they were lost in total darkness until Petra summoned a spell wisp. The faint light of the spell guided their steps.

"What is this place?" one of the apprentices asked; Finn thought her name was Ada. Beside them, Kinnon ran a finger over the polished stone walls, pulling away grime.

"It's a secret passageway," Finn explained. "It was built by the Avvars, back when this was Kinloch Hold."

Kinnon lowered his hand. "Do the templars know about this?"

Finn shrugged. "They would if they ever bothered to read _The Tevinter Invasion_ in the original Tevene." He frowned, trying to remember the text. "It lets out near the Gherlen's Pass, I think."

"_What?_" Kinnon stared at him. "Are you telling me that you knew about a secret passageway that leads out of the Tower, under Lake Calenhad, and takes you halfway to bloody Jader and you've never thought to use it?"

Finn huffed. "Not everyone wants to run willy-nilly into homelessness!"

Kinnon pulled his hands down over his face, distorting his features and leaving a trail of dirt down his cheek. After a moment he waved his hand. "Never mind, it doesn't matter now. Let's just keep moving."

And they forged ahead, leaving everything they knew behind them, with only blind faith and the light of Petra's wisp to guide them. Finn quickened his step to walk beside her.

"Why are you doing this?" Petra had always been reasonable, he thought. She turned to look at him, and Finn frowned. "You were here for Uldred. You know how awful it was."

"That wasn't our time." The wisp flickered out. Petra flicked her fingers and cast it again. The purple glow cast long shadows over her soft features, lit up her dark eyes. "But the world has changed, Anders showed us. Our time has come."

Finn crossed his arms. "Well, thanks a lot Anders." Petra gave him a look he couldn't read, then shrugged and left him behind, striding ahead to find Kinnon. Finn fell in step with Dagna again. "This is crazy." He said it quietly so only she could hear him. "You'd think I would have noticed a revolution."

"The other mages _were_ acting a little strange," Dagna said.

"Maybe." Finn thought on this. Kinnon and Petra _had_ been meeting together in the dormitories lately, and they had always gone silent the moment Finn entered the room, but that was hardly noteworthy; they always did that. And Kinnon had been volunteering to clean the latrines rather often, which he never did. Finn had been wondering what he was trying to prove. And then Finn remembered that Owain had been out of drakestone last week, which was odd, because they only ran out of drakestone when a war was on. But drakestone wasn't dangerous on its own, for volatility you needed...

_Oh_. Finn shuddered, and his stomach turned. Revolutions were _disgusting_.

The others had wandered ahead, half shadowed in the dark tunnel. Dagna lifted her chin and sniffed. "The air here is stale," she said. "I don't think this tunnel lets out anywhere at all."

She was right. Some ways in the tunnel came to an abrupt end, where a mound of red-brown stone and mud had spilled over the path from floor to ceiling, blocking their exit. In the light of Petra's wisp, he saw a ribbon of water trickling out of the ceiling. Moss covered some of the higher stones.

Finn frowned. His information was perhaps a bit out of date.

Kinnon poked the obstruction with his staff. "We have to blast our way out."

"But the tunnel will collapse," Dagna sputtered. "We're at the bottom of Lake Calenhad, we'll drow—"

But one of the apprentices had already raised his staff. Finn reached for his and panicked when he remembered he'd left Vera behind. The tunnel exploded with earth magic. Finn tried to open a wide channel to the Fade, but without his staff it was like pulling a net through honey. The roof opened up and all of Lake Calenhad came crashing in.

Finn reached for Dagna and wrapped his arms around her. He thought he could manage an ice spell. Ice floated, right? He thought it did. Water roared into the tunnel, and Dagna screamed and then the water swallowed her voice. His magic flashed out. Ice encased them and the world went dark.

And cold.

Really, really cold.

_So this is what all those hurlocks felt like_. The ice cracked on the surface, and he broke free, gasping for air, but there was nothing beneath his feet and Finn choked on a mouthful of murky water instead. He grabbed onto the last of the ice and reached for her, saw two pigtails fall beneath the waves.

"Dagna?" The ice melted into the water and Finn dropped under the waves. His hands flapped ineffectually. He had never learned how to swim. He had never wanted to learn, he had never seen the point. He was going to die. Water rushed over his head, feeling his ears with a white rush of nothing. He remembered to kick. He pushed his head back above the water again. "Dagna!"

Someone grabbed his arm, and then Kinnon was pulling him to shore. Finn hacked up a lungful of water and muck and things he _really_ never meant to swallow and struggled to his feet, blinking grime from his eyes, trying to find Dagna. Two apprentices came thrashing out of the water, collapsing on the shore and coughing up mud. Finn turned and ran back into the water, felt the waves breaking against his legs, bearing him down. Then Petra burst out the water, and his gut twisted when he saw the dwarf slung over her back. The two women collapsed on the shore.

"We did it!" Petra found her footing and Kinnon clasped her in his arms. "We're free! Can you believe it, we made it out..."

Finn stumbled to Dagna. "Are you alright?"

"Could... be... worse," Dagna wrapped her arms around herself, shivering in the crisp harvest wind. "Can you...?"

He nodded and reached for the Fade, but found to his alarm that he was tapped out. Freezing and nearly drowning could do that to a man. He spread his hands to try again, but only a few sparks sputtered uselessly from his fingers. "I'm sorry, no... I can't." Finn felt sick, and helpless, and if he wasn't so cold he would have flushed.

"Oh. O...kay." She tried to smile, but her teeth were chattering too hard, and she buried her face in his chest. They huddled together like wet mabari in the cold.

Then Dagna made the mistake of looking up at the sky. It continued on forever, in all directions, an infinite blue emptiness spreading out above them. Her eyes glazed over. She looked dizzy, and he reached to steady her.

"What's wrong?"

Dagna shifted from one foot from the other and forced her eyes to the ground. "Look, I know by now that we aren't actually going to fall into the sky. I did walk all the way here from Orzammar, once. It's just that it's so..." She glanced up at the sky again, then buried her face in his chest. "Huge."

"I know what you mean." Finn looked up. He couldn't see them yet, but he knew the mosquitoes were already swarming. Before long it would be bears, too, he was sure, and templars and varterrals and mage-hating peasants and whatever else there was in the world that would like to eat him alive. He shivered inside his wet robes.

Kinnon strode back over to them. "Sorry we couldn't warn you about all this, Flora—"

"It's really Finn."

"Right." Kinnon shrugged. "Look, we would have brought you in, but you've always been so chummy with the templars. We weren't sure where you'd land in all this."

Finn's hands closed into fists. "You weren't really sure where _you'd_ land either, it seems." He looked around. In the moonlight, on the shore of the lake, he saw only three of the apprentices had made it out of the water. Ada wasn't one of them. He couldn't think about it, and looked up at the sky, taking note of the stars. "North, by the way. We landed on the north shore."

"Yeah, thanks for that, by the way. Now we're off to Orlais." Apparently this was why Kinnon had been learning Orlesian. "Going to take the fight straight to the Divine!" He clapped Finn on the back. "You should come with us."

Dagna touched his arm. "Maybe he's right," she said. "At least until we figure out what we're going to do."

Finn scowled. "But I don't _want_ to rebel."

"Suit yourself," Kinnon said. He took Petra by the hand and raised their fists high. "Allons-y!"

With that, they left, heading west toward a vague promise of rebellion, and Finn and Dagna were left dripping, alone, in the dark. Finn really wished he had his staff, and even his stupid ugly hat. At least then the mosquitoes wouldn't bite his head.

"What now?" Dagna asked.

"Maybe this isn't as bad as we think it is," he said. "Now that Kinnon and his gang are gone, maybe we can go back to the Tower and explain—"

At that moment, the same Tower which had stood against the Tevinters and the Blight and two thousand years of magical mayhem chose that exact moment to topple to the ground. Fire roared from its core as walls snapped, windows cracked, and a shockwave rippled out across the water. Waves crashed against the shore as dust and debris rose up from the suddenly flaccid phallus of Lake Calenhad.

"So that's the Rite of Annulment," Finn said, after some time.

"Dust and ashes..." Dagna stared out across the lake. "All those mages, the templars..."

Finn nodded slowly. He thought also about all the books that were lost, unique and priceless volumes whose words were forever lost. He had always been so careful to wash his hands before he touched their pages. It seemed silly now.

They stared in silence as the acrid smell of sela petrae drifted over them in a cloud of sundered hope.

It was some time before Finn could speak again. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know." Dagna's voice had lost its usual cheer. "We could go find the Warden? He was always so helpful."

"Faren went through the Eluvian, remember?" And Finn had no idea where Ariane's clan had gone; there would be no help from that quarter. "What about your family?" he suggested. Finn couldn't really picture himself living underground, but it would be warm.

"I'm casteless," Dagna reminded him. "I don't think we should go to Orzammar unless you want to run a racket for the Carta."

"Oh." Finn didn't even know what a racket was, much less how to run one. There was really only one other option, and Finn really didn't want to consider it. "I suppose we can go see my father in Amaranthine."

Dagna's eyes widened. "But you haven't spoken in..."

"Seven years?" Finn shrugged and tried to sound optimistic. "I'm his only son. He can't really turn me away, can he?"

Dagna's brow creased, dubiously, but she nodded anyway, and let him lead her up from the shores of Lake Calenhad and into the great wide open. They trudged north, passing from empty meadow to shaded woods. After a few hours, Finn managed to cobble together some mana, and they found a dry patch of dirt and he made a little fire and got their clothes dry. As always his robes were neatly pressed, and his color returned, and Finn started to feel a little more normal.

It was then that it began to rain.

* * *

_Finn's poem, in translation:_

I am the beating heart of the dragon  
My love burns  
So come closer, darling,  
And warm your hands


	2. Vagabonds

The rain lasted all night and into the morning. Finn had seen rain before, of course, in fact he was rather fond of the white noise it made on the Tower walls, but he found it much less agreeable when it was falling on his head and turning everything into mud. It sucked at his boots and drained the warmth from his body, and was overall just as much of a downer as the poets tended to find it.

They found a cave to weather the storm. It offered some shelter, but it was cold, and it leaked, and the ground was hard and damp and Finn woke up with a crick in his neck. He rubbed it angrily. Dagna stood at the mouth of the cave, staring out at the rain.

Finn went to stand beside her. A thick forest stretched out in all directions, as far as he could see, a sodden hinterlands of limp trees and brush. There were somewhere south of West Hills, he thought, if he was remembering the Fereldan map correctly. It was late Frumentum, and the oak trees had already gone to red and gold. In a few weeks it would be Satinalia, and the rain would turn to sleet, and then snow. Finn shivered.

"Maybe I should just turn myself in," he said. "Find a templar in West Hills and just throw myself at his mercy." Finn raised his hands in mock surrender. "Like, 'Help, help, I'm a mage. Please protect me from myself.'"

Dagna's eyes widened and she went pale. "Don't even joke about that. There's no Circle to lock you in now, Finn. What do you think a templar would do with you if he found you?" She shuddered. "I can't even bear to think about it."

"Oh, please, they wouldn't..." But Dagna gave him a look that stopped him cold. He did not think he had ever seen her so serious.

She might be right, he thought. His days of playing Wicked Grace with Hadley were gone. He remembered how upset he'd been when he'd found Hadley's body. He could only imagine how brassed off the templars would be now, with so many of their comrades dead. There were probably out there right now, looking for someone to blame. Finn looked away.

"You should leave me," he said. "No one is hunting you. You'd be safer without me."

"Finn, no. I couldn't possibly." Dagna shook her head. "And anyway, where would I go? You're kind of all I have left."

"Well, that's a little pathetic." Finn smiled, and he slipped his arm around her. "But thank you. I didn't really want you to go."

"It's a dangerous world for me, too," she insisted, and patted his hand that held her. "I don't know anything about the surface. We're better off together."

The rain stopped, and they headed out into the deep forest. Wild things Finn couldn't name scuttled in the leaves under his feet, black things with fur and green things with scales and other things he sensed or heard but couldn't see. Finn had never had any interest in zoology. Even the pictures in books had made his skin crawl, and back in his library he had avoided the whole section. Now flecks of life darted among the shadows. Finn wrapped his arms around himself and wished he knew a ward against the unknown.

They came upon a meadow, and both of them froze when they saw a monstrous, four legged beast. It was half a head taller than Finn, and built like a brick house, with horns like sabres and the black cloven toes of a demon. It chewed and chewed, endlessly, on what Finn could not guess.

"What is that?" Dagna gasped. She clutched his arm.

"I think... it's a cow," Finn said. It seemed as out of place as they were in the forest. It must have wandered off from some farm.

"Maybe it's friendly." Dagna swallowed. "Maybe we could eat it."

"People do eat them," Finn allowed, but looking at it in person, he thought he might have that backwards. The creature was the size of ten men. It stared at him with its big, baleful eyes, and Finn took a step back. It really never stopped chewing.

"Moo!" the beast roared. Dagna yelped, and they ran.

-o-

Hours passed, until it seemed they would never leave these woods. The canopy of leaves was a shroud over their heads.

Dagna stopped to catch her breath. Finn carefully pulled his robes around himself and sank to the ground. His body ached from his toes to his fingertips. He was cold and tired and hungrier than he had ever been in his life.

Dagna collapsed beside him. Finn lifted his robes off his skin, trying not to sweat. "If he ever meet Anders again," he said, "I am going to punch him right in the face."

Dagna looked at him sideways. "That sounds very physical."

"Well, a spell wouldn't work, would it? Anders knows wards." Finn shifted. "He was a good mage, you know. Talented. Everyone liked him." Finn remembered how the other mages were just _so_ impressed by his bravado, his inane jokes, his stupid earring. Anders always seemed to know what to say. Finn had been jealous, really, if he was being honest. He picked up a twig and drove it into the ground. "I don't know why he was so determined to ruin everything."

"He must have been very unhappy." Finn looked up at her, and after a moment Dagna stood up. "Well, I'm going to scout ahead, see if I can figured out where we are." Dagna scurried up a hill to try to find their bearings, and Finn looked down at his feet.

The mud could not cling to his enchanted robes, but by now his boots were filthy. Finn scratched the caked dirt off the dragonskin. It wasn't any use without a proper brush, though, and after a while he gave up.

Finn sighed. He wondered if it had been like this for Anders, all those times he had run away. If it was, he really didn't understand the appeal.

But Finn had never wanted any of this. Others had chafed under the Circle's restrictions, but he had always been happy to play by the rules, more or less. He kept his head down and made the best of what the Templars allowed him. And for that, they had allowed him more than most. He could leave the Tower if he had a good reason, and he earned a semi-private room, one of the best in the Tower, with his own cot and one moderately sized window that didn't open.

Now all that luxury was gone.

Something landed on his arm. It was the size of a butterfly, but _evil_, and it bit into him before he slapped it. "Perfect," Finn grumbled, to no one in particular. He watched in horror as an angry welt welt rose on the bite site. He began to scratch it. "I miss the library. Nothing ever bit me in the library. I want to go home."

Dagna spoke from where she was on the hill. "Me, too, Finn. Of course I do, but it's gone and there's no point whining about it now." She sat down beside him and brushed off her skirts. "Look, it will get better, I'm sure of it. And West Hill is just over that crest."

He exhaled, and she looked him over before adding, "We'll need to sell your clothes. Hopefully we can get enough for them to pay for passage on a caravan to the coast."

Finn's hand went to his chest protectively. "Why do we have to sell _my_ clothes? Why can't we sell your clothes?"

"Because you look like a mage, Finn." She was either entirely unaware, or didn't care, that Finn's clothes were the only thing he had left that reminded him who he was. Dagna waved her hand dismissively. "Kind of makes it hard to lie low when you're wearing a glittering magic robe and a pair of boots only a noble could afford."

"But..." Finn felt like he was being robbed. Those same boots were a gift from his father, and he had enchanted his robes himself.

Dagna sighed. "Unless you want to get picked up by the very first Templar we see...?"

"Fine. I'll sell all of my clothing." Finn crossed his arms. "And maybe if it's not enough, I can perform tricks in the square, and children can throw bits."

"Don't be silly, that would give us away." Dagna smiled blithely, and she held out her hand. "So if you'll just slip out of your-"

"No." The word came out much harsher than he'd intended, and Dagna looked a little stricken. He softened his voice. "I'm sorry, but they're _my_ clothes and I'm not just going to stand her in my altogether while you go pawn them off to the nearest rube who doesn't understand their value." He jerked to his feet and headed towards West Hill. "Please, just... let me do this myself."

Dagna frowned. "Okay, if it means that much to you..."

Finn stormed off before she could finish. She shouted something after him, but suddenly he wanted to be alone, and away from her, and he was too busy feeling sorry for himself to hear whatever it was she was trying to tell him.

-o-

Finn had no trouble finding a tailor. When he entered the shop, the proprietor was briefly suspicious, but Finn managed to convince him he was not a mage, but actually a man in a dress, and then the tailor didn't ask any more questions.

They quickly got down to business. His first offer was one sovereign, some rather plain garments and a pair of sturdy but well-worn boots, but Finn could not really stomach the thought of putting his feet into the sweaty impressions of someone else's dirty feet, so he bargained for a pair of smart new riding boots, and a red doublet with ribbons, and a scarf, and the tailor gave him three silvers, which was more metal than a single sovereign, anyway.

With some reluctance, Finn forfeited his fine dragonskin boots, and his matching gloves, and the magnificent emerald robes that he had worn almost exclusively for the past seven years. He kept the amulet of Zazikel that he wore around his neck. It wasn't worth anything, anyway, as it was only a replica, and Finn didn't really want to part with it. Zazikel was the ancient god of chaos. It might be a good place to send his prayers, in these times. He tucked the amulet beneath his undershirt while he changed, so that the shopkeeper wouldn't see it.

He checked himself in the mirror before he left. He looked rather dapper, he thought, and he straightened his doublet, trying to adjust to the idea of pants. The tailor thanked him, and he went back out into the woods to find Dagna.

-o-

"Three silvers?" Dagna frowned. "Well, that won't get us a caravan." She glanced him over, and pursed her lips. "You didn't take his first offer, did you?"

"No, of course not." It did look like much less money, now that he was showing it to her. He shoved the trio of coins back in his pocket. "He offered me a sovereign first, but the clothes weren't satisfactory." Her mouth tightened, and he scowled. "I did have to buy clothes, Dagna. I couldn't very well make the trip naked."

"Right." Dagna exhaled. She looked like she was going to say something else, but then she just shook her head and managed a smile. "Never mind. It doesn't matter. It isn't very far, really. We can just walk."

"I did do it with the Warden," Finn reminded her. "It isn't a very difficult journey."

But this wasn't exactly true. They kept off the main roads, to be safe, and the path they found was flooded and overgrown. After several hours of slogging through the mud and underbrush, it was apparent they weren't making very good progress.

Even in good weather, the trip would have been daunting. Finn had thought he would know how to get to Amaranthine. He had been there before, after all, both as a child and with the Warden, but now that he was out on his own, all of Ferelden looked the same dull shade of brown, and the sun kept moving on them, making it hard to be sure they weren't going in circles.

"Do you think we're in Highever yet?" Dagna asked.

"No, we would have seen Castle Cousland, I think. It's hard to miss." Finn dabbed the sweat off his brow with his neckerchief. He then turned his attention to his doublet, but there was just too much dirt in this world, and the silk was already stained. "Ugh, I'm a mess. I forgot how this happens to normal cloth. I miss my robes."

"I like the pants, though." Dagna tilted her head, and gave him an appraising look. She smiled. "Nice to find out you have legs, after all this time."

Finn rolled his eyes. "Well, I'm glad _you're_ enjoying yourself. I'm _not_." By then had decided he hated pants: they were very binding, and they kept riding up. He tugged at the waist. "Pants are a terrible idea all around. Frankly, I have no idea why they had caught on."

"I see," Dagna said, and tried to conceal a smile.

"Oh shut up, you're wearing a dress, you don't know!"

The only thing worse than the pants were the shoes. The soles leaked and the leather didn't breath, and it seemed like all the water in Ferelden was making a special pilgrimage to his socks. He couldn't bear to think of what his feet must smell like, and by the second hour he had blisters. "If I have to walk one more mile in these awful shoes," he groused, "I will turn maleficar."

Dagna glanced at his feet. "Well, the heel is only half an inch thick, and the leather isn't bonded, what do you expect?"

Finn stopped. "What does that mean?"

Dagna stopped too, and she turned to look up at him. "It means you were swindled, Finn. It's your own fault and you should stop going on about it." She sighed. "You really should have let me help you."

Finn scowled at her. "You think you could have done better?"

"I know I could have done better." She placed her hands on her hips. "I'm a dwarf, Finn, and smith caste besides. I've been bartering since before I could count. While you, apparently, do not know the difference between a sovereign and a silver."

"Well, it's easy for you to say that now, isn't it?" Finn crossed his arms. "Fine. You're a genius of mercantilism. I was wrong ever to think I could manage on my own."

"Please don't be like that, Finn." Dagna sighed again. "Look, I'm sorry. What's done is done, you're right. We just have to make the best of it."

Finn agreed that he would try, but the path grew more uneven, pocked and ribbed with roots, and in places there were puddles so deep Finn thought he saw fish swimming in them. Then they came to a footbridge whose middle section had washed away and left the path had flooded over.

Dagna hiked up her skirts and forged ahead, the muck and wet sloshing up to her knees. When she reached the other side she turned back to Finn and said, "What are you waiting for?"

"But..." Finn looked down at flooded path and wrinkled his nose.

"Don't be ridiculous, Finn," Dagna said. "It's just water."

But water was something you drank, Finn thought. It was clear and refreshing and clean. This was liquid mud, an unholy blend of sludge and excrement, he was sure, the kind of filth that grabbed hold of your soul and never let go. He looked at Dagna, with her dress brown to her knees, and his nose wrinkled again.

"Why can't we just take the Imperial highway?" he asked. "You made me change my clothes. We just look like people now."

"Finn, please. We're not at the Highway, we're here. Let's just keep going." But Finn made no move to join her, and Dagna put her hands on her hips. "Look, Finn, your oddities were somewhat endearing before, but out here... Well." She exhaled, loudly. "We don't really have time for this. We're not in the Tower anymore."

Finn looked at her, and then at little brown stream, and back at her. Dagna gave him a patronizing look, and Finn decided that he didn't care for it. He didn't care for it at all.

"You're right," he said suddenly. "We aren't in the Tower anymore. And you know what, Dagna? We made sense in the Tower. But all that's gone now and we have to accept that." He crossed his arms. "We should split up."

Dagna looked startled. "What? Finn, no... look, I didn't mean..."

"No, I can see now that I'm just holding you back." He glared at her and snapped, "If you think you can do so much better without me, then by all means!"

The words hung in the air like a tempest, roiling, inflicting even more damage in the silence that followed. As Dagna stared at him, Finn saw that there was no taking it back. He shook his head, huffed, and finally turned on his heel and stormed off, following the river, in the direction he thought was north. She did not follow him.

Finn didn't look back. He was better off without her, he decided. She was always second guessing him and telling him what to do, and anyway, her legs were very short, and he could make better time on his own. He resolved not to think of her ever again.

In a few hours he found the highway. He felt exposed as he stepped out of the woods, but he did not think how Dagna might have been right about staying off it. He headed due east. The hours wore on, he did not think how even her most condescending company would have been welcome. With every step his feet ached, and Amaranthine did not seem to be getting any closer, but he did not think about how sweet her voice would sound, if she were with him, and how warm her hands were, and how her smile could light up even these dark days. He wasn't thinking about those things. He did not thinking about them every waking moment since he left her.

And he definitely didn't think about her that night, when he found an empty meadow and curled up in the long grass alone. He wasn't dreaming about her, either, when he reached out for her in his sleep and woke up with a handful of cold mud. That certainly didn't happen.

He did not think about her when he was walking again, and he passed a merchant with a wagon full of oranges and carrots, dried meat and pastries, and his three silvers only bought him an apple and the stale heel of bread. And he did not think about her again, when after several hours his toe burst through the unbonded leather of his boot, and then later when the heel broke. Finn shoved his hands into his pockets, and he did not think about Dagna at all.

-o-

With the Warden and Ariane, this road had seemed a trip of hours, but everything seems longer when one is alone, Finn realized. Especially when one did not really know where one was going. It was several days before he reached Cousland lands, and two more before he crossed over into the arling of Amaranthine.

He picked fruit where he could; it wasn't stealing, exactly, these orchards obviously had more than could be picked. Or at least that's what he told himself. He did not think how much Dagna would have liked the juicy apples, or how she would have teased him about his dubious moral compass.

One day he got lucky and managed to kill a rabbit with a fireball. It was the first one he'd manage to hit but not completely incinerate; magic was never meant for hunting game. He did not think about how Dagna might have been impressed. Finn offered its blood to Zazikel before he ate it, because it seemed like the thing to do.

In Ferelden, he realized he should probably offer his prayers to Andraste; the only dragon cultist in Ferelden were crackpots who couldn't tell the difference between a drakeling and a proper god. Finn had no time for them.

In Tevinter, though. Finn had heard that in Tevinter there were still temples to Lusacan, cathedrals with gothic spires so grand they nearly blacked out the sun. That would be something to see, he thought. But it was hard enough just getting to Amaranthine, and Tevinter was so far away that it might as well have been on the moon, and in any case there was no point without Dagna, who he was not thinking about. He put it all out of his mind.

That night Finn slept on the ignoble floor of a barn, despite the fact that the hay made him sneeze and he was sure he would get fleas. It was still better than the ground.

He woke to an angry farmer prodding him with a pitchfork, and for a moment he toyed with the idea of smiting him with lightning, but he knew that Amaranthine was always crawling with templars, and so he only ran. The broken heel of his boot made for an uneven gate, and by afternoon his back was sore, and he was so hungry he was seriously considering eating the rest of the boot.

And then, finally, he found the old, creaking sign that said _Radiant Highcrest Sheepshead Estates_, his family steading, and beneath that the familiar winding footpath that led away from the Imperial highway toward his father's home. His steps lightened. Finn passed an old oak tree, crooked and cragged, and a half-forgotten memory flashed in his mind. He had climbed that tree, once. A lump formed in his throat: he was home. Everything would be right again.

He found the farmhouse where his family had lived. It looked different than he remembered. The front door was painted gray, not red, and a few of the old turrets had been torn down and replaced with gables. But it was still home. Finn took a deep breath and knocked.

The door opened, revealing a stout woman he did not recognize.

Finn tried not to look disappointed. Of course they would have changed housekeepers by now, he thought. "Good afternoon." He bowed slightly. "I'm... I'm an old friend of Lord Guy. Is he in?"

The woman cocked her head to the side and scowled unkindly. "Must be a right old friend, not to know what's happened t' him." Her northern accent was strange; it had been so long since Finn had heard anyone talk like that. But it was not her accent that made it hard to understand what she said next. "Guy Aldebrant 'as been dead an' moulderin' for well on seven years now."

Finn felt as though the ground had opened up beneath him. "Dead? How? Why?" His nose wrinkled. "Did you say 'mouldering'?"

"Guy was a traitor." The strange woman spat on the ground. "Had the terrible sense to stand with Bann Esmerelle, 'stead o' the hero who ended the Blight, when it came time t' choose. Arl Faren rightly ended him, in a tuffle a' Vigil, and that was the end o' that. These are Sheffield lands now."

Finn stared at her. "The Warden killed my...?" The woman was giving him a rather unfriendly look, and Finn caught himself. She crossed her arms and scowled at him.

He cleared his throat and said, "Well, that is terribly disappointing," which might have been the understatement of his life. He slid his hands into his tight empty pockets. "Um, I... I hate to ask, but I have travelled a long way, and... might you have any room for me here at your farm, Lady... uh... Sheffield? I can't pay you, but perhaps..." and Finn tried to think of what he possibly had to offer her.

She didn't give him the chance. "There ain't no friend o' Guy's that's welcome here," she snapped. "Now get, afore I call the Wardens on ye."

And then she stuck out her round chin and glared daggers, in a way so profound that Finn thought her eyes might actually stab him. He was at a loss. She was a short, somewhat portly woman, but she seemed very spirited, and anyway Finn knew he couldn't risk using any magic. Resignedly, he turned, and he heard the door slam shut behind him.

He trudged back onto the highway, but he didn't know where he was going anymore. He had nowhere left to go.

_The Warden killed my father. _ It didn't seem possible. It would have been long before Finn met him, and Faren hadn't mentioned it. Finn thought something like that would come up. _Oh hello thanks for helping me find my apostate girlfriend, and all that, but by the way I slew your father, one time, sorry..._

His shoulders slumped. Of course, it was possible Faren hadn't known they were related. Guy always went by his given name, and anyway, normals tended to assume mages didn't have family, that they sprang from the ground fully formed, like magical daisies. During their brief time together, Faren might not have made the connection between Finn and a skirmish that had probably lasted all of seventeen seconds in his rather busy life.

_Well that explains why he stopped writing_. Finn thought he should be sad, but his heart was racing, and his hands started to shake, and he realized he was angry. Angry at his father for being so foolish, for forfeiting their lands and dragging the Aldebrant name even lower than his magic had. And, less rationally, Finn was angry at Faren for letting himself be betrayed.

And then Finn realized he was also angry at the Circle. Why hadn't the Templars told him? Didn't a man deserve to know when his father died? But even Hadley, with all his overtures of friendship, had not thought he was worthy of that basic respect. Finn let out a long breath.

He trudged on. But by the time the sun went down, he hadn't found a single barn or shed or even a dog house where he could spend the night. He was weary to the bone. A carriage passed him on the road, too close, and he tripped and fell into a ditch. He could not bring himself to get up.

Dust swirled over him as the carriage rode on, but he didn't bother to brush it off. There wasn't any point: he was already dirtier than he had ever been in his entire life. He only stared up at the cold, dark night sky.

And he thought of Dagna. That Sheffield woman never would have slammed the door on her. She would have taken one look at Dagna, with her sweet smile and round cheeks and relentlessly adorable eyes, and she would have had to have taken them in right there. And then Dagna would have fixed his shoes, and maybe baked cookies, and Finn couldn't guess why he had ever left her behind.

He had no idea where she was. Finn couldn't remember the last time he didn't know where Dagna was. The two of them had spent almost every evening together for the last seven years. He would probably never see her again. The thought left a hollow ache in his chest.

Finn fell asleep there by the side of the road, his arms folded over himself, and he dreamed that Dagna found him. She had brought food, and his dragonskin boots and emerald robes, and Vera, somehow. She handed him his beautiful staff, and when he took it, it shone so brilliantly that it woke him. But when he opened his eyes it was only the harsh, unshadowed sun of morning, and he was still alone.


	3. Apostates

Finn decided we would go Amaranthine proper and seek his fortune there. He didn't know what he would do there, but it couldn't possibly be any worse than what he had managed so far.

As he plodded on, he wondered what value he might have outside the Circle. He was literate, and organized, and good with dead languages, but he didn't think there was much of a market for those things in the outside world. Certainly not for a man with no connections. _Oh, hi, you don't know me, but I will alphabetize things for food... _

He was so deep in thought that he didn't see the templar until he was almost on top of her. She was standing just outside the city gates, right in the middle of the road, like the colossus of Seheron. The etched sword on her breastplate was only slightly less terrifying than the actual sword that hung at her hip.

Their eyes met. With a sinking heart, Finn realized that it was too late to run. He scanned her face, noting her pinched cheeks and zealously over-tweezed eyebrows, and recognized her as Ser Rylock, a rather fervid knight that he remembered all too well from his time at the Tower.

"Good ser." Finn froze as he realized she was talking to him. "Do you travel from West Hills?"

Finn blinked. Rylock was looking at him dully, and he realized that somehow, impossibly, she did not recognize him. His mouth went dry. Perhaps it was because he was so unkempt. By then he must have been filthy, with the scratchy beginnings of a beard, where had always been fresh-scrubbed and clean shaven in the Tower. Or perhaps, he allowed, it was because someone much wiser than himself had convinced him to change his clothes.

Rylock was still waiting for an answer. Finn forced his terror down into his stomach and tried to act like a human. "Yes, I come from West Hills," he managed.

"Have you seen anything suspicious on the Imperial highway?" Rylock's hand rested on the hilt of her gleaming steel sword. Finn tried not to stare at it. "We've heard some strange reports. Magic. Blood magic rituals." Her face pinched in disgust. "Someone has been setting rabbits on _fire_."

"Oh." Finn's hand twitched. "Um. How awful. No, I haven't seen anything like that." Which wasn't exactly a lie; he could hardly bring himself to look at the poor things. Of course now he realized he should have disposed of the bodies. He bit his lip. "Who could do such a thing."

Rylock shook her head. "_Mages_. They aren't like us, you know, ser..." She looked at him expectantly, waiting for his name.

"Ah." He looked around desperately for inspiration. His eyes caught on sweeping archway of the gates of Amaranthine, the elegant masonwork, row upon row of even slabs of stone, and he finally sputtered, "...Brick."

"Ser Brick." Rylock's brow knit, and Finn's heart stopped. Then she shook her head, mumbling something about _parents these days._ Then she pulled a sheaf of vellum from her satchel and she showed it to him. "How about this man? Have you seen him?"

Finn looked at the paper, and his eyes widened. Staring back at him was a charcoal sketch of Anders, his onetime rival, his tormentor. His once-laughing eyes were glaring and angry, drawn in dark lines.

Rylock noted his reaction. "You know him?"

_Act like a normal person you ninny._ Finn caught his breath and looked up. "Well, uh, I know his face," he said, carefully. "Of course. It's all the news. He's the apostate who blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall isn't he?" Rylock nodded. "Terrible thing that," Finn added. "Because I love Chantries." His hand went to his neck, self consciously, to the amulet he had hidden there. "And the Maker. Um. Praise Andraste."

Rylock cocked an attenuated brow. "Yes. May Her words bring light to the darkness." The templar gave him one last dubious look before she rolled up her poster and stowed it in her pack. "His name is Anders."

With some effort, Finn forced his hand down to his side. "But Kirkwall is in the Free Marches. Why are you looking for him here?"

"Anders lived here. He was a Warden." Rylock looked off into the distance, and squinted, as if by sheer force of will she could see clear to Vigil's Keep. "I almost had him once, you know. Nobody else took him seriously, but I knew he was dangerous. I knew. I always knew." Finn didn't know why she was telling him all this, but he thought it best to be polite, given the circumstances. Her eyes darkened. "When I think about how close I was to catching him, how I could have stopped all this..."

Rylock waved her hands, at the apparently peaceful village of Amaranthine, and Finn realized she wasn't really talking to him at all. "But the Wardens stopped me," she went on. "Maybe Anders thinks they will help him again. I'm guessing he feels like he needs a friend right now." Her lips curved into a rather unpleasant smile. "I'd like to be that friend."

Finn tapped his fingers against his leg, nervously. He realized with some disgust that he was sweating. He had never feared a templar before, but then he had never seen this side of them before. This casual hatred. He wondered if there were any templars after him, specifically. He couldn't think of any who would have reason to hunt him, but there was no reason in Rylock's smile.

"You..." She looked at him, and Finn closed his mouth. Then he lifted his chin. "Do you really think he's going to come back here? He must know you remember about Amaranthine." He frowned. "Isn't it a little obvious?"

"People are obvious," Rylock said. "When faced with too much change at once, they crawl back to the familiar. It feels safe. Even when it isn't." Rylock stepped back, raising an armored hand. Finn tensed, but she only waved him on. "Enjoy your stay in Amaranthine, Ser Brick."

She looked past him, to the next normal person waiting to enter the city, and Finn lowered his head and hurried past her. He still didn't breathe again until he was out of her sight. He felt faint. Vertigo nearly brought him to his knees, and he fell against a wall. A brick wall, he realized, as the cold stone touched his skin.

_My namesake_, Finn thought, stupidly, and then he began to laugh. He covered his mouth, squeezing his eyes so hard he pressed tears from them, but he still felt lightheaded. Giddy, even. He had survived his first encounter with a templar.

He thought about what she'd said. Maybe he should learn to embrace change. Be unpredictable. At least it would keep him from getting caught by certain tenacious templars who never let anything go. And he had to admit, his old habits had only gotten him into trouble. Finn stood up again and headed into town, walking past the Chantry. He would figure this out. Maybe he could find an inn, or a stable, or a market where he could beg for food or even soap.

And then he saw her.

For a moment Finn thought he was hallucinating. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, but she was still there, a lone dwarf standing outside the Crown and Lion, with her hair in two bedraggled red pigtails, and a mournful look on her face. Dagna met his eyes, and the rest of the world fell away.

"Hello," she said.

"Dagna!" The name came out of him in one great gasp, like a fulmination, and then he couldn't seem to find any words to say that were big enough for all that he felt. Finally he settled on, "You're in Amaranthine," which was hugely inadequate.

"Yes, I am." Dagna shrugged. "It seemed as good a place as any. And... well, I thought you might think differently about things, once you'd had some time on your own." Then she clasped her hands together and looked at him expectantly.

Finn took a breath. "I'm so sorry about what happened," he said, and then the words all came out at once. "Dagna, I didn't mean anything I said back there. You... you have to know that I love you. You are my inverted polarity in Reynard's law of equivalent exchange. Without you I am just an imploding stultification." He reached out, and took her hands in his. "I am a templar without lyrium, a blood mage without a knife, an alchemist with an unbalanced alembic. I've regretted every step I've taken without you, and not just because you were right about these boots." He squeezed her fingers. "I never should have left you in West Hill. I would rather be in a in a ditch with you than in the finest Circle in all of Thedas. Please, please forgive me."

"Oh, Finn." Dagna smiled. "You had me at 'inverted polarity.'"

Overcome with relief, Finn took her in his arms and kissed her, more completely than he ever had before. She melted against him. In the warmth of her presence, all the pain of the past three days was forgotten, as if they had never happened.

After a moment Dagna pulled away. "Finn, I heard what happened to your father. I'm so, so sorry for your loss. I can't even imagine what you're feeling right now."

Finn blew out a breath. "Grief. Confusion. Anger." But the truth was he had not been close to his father in many years, and the loss of him was hollow and meaningless beside the fear that he had lost Dagna forever. He reached for her hand. "But you're here now. That's all that matters."

"I'm glad I found you again, too." Dagna smiled. "And I'm sorry, too. I said some things that I regret."

"You've nothing to apologize for," Finn said.

"No, I should have been more sensitive," Dagna said. "I know how proud you can be." Then she took her tongue between her teeth, and grinned. "But you're right. It is mostly your fault."

Finn let out a laugh, and Dagna laughed, too. He took her in his arms and she buried her face in his chest, just as high as his heart. "Dagna, I still don't know where we can stay. Now that my father's gone, we can't—"

She pressed her fingers into his lips. "Hush, it's been arranged." She nodded at the Crown and Lion, behind her. "I've a room for us upstairs."

"A room? But how did you-"

"Before you ask how I paid for it," Dagna cut in, "Let me remind you, again, that I am a dwarf, and I have my ways." She gave him a meaningful look. "I'm not without skills, Finn. You need to trust me."

"I do trust you," Finn said. "Completely."

Her eyes sparkled. "Good," she said, and pulled away to put her hands on her hips. "So, are you going to stand there in those dirty clothes all night, or are you going to come upstairs and use the bath? You are looking a little scruffy."

"A bath?" Finn asked, and Dagna nodded. He thought he might weep. No one could ever understand him as well as she did. "A bath, my _cicaro_, sounds perfect."

-o-

The dirt was washed away, his vigor returned, and then Dagna came to him, with those eyes and _that_ look and gave him back his pride, as well. Finn slept like uthenera, and he woke with the sun, refreshed and restored.

Morning light filtered through the soft white curtains of their room, and Finn turned on his side to look at Dagna, resting peacefully beside him. She opened her eyes, and the light danced in her vivid blue eyes.

He touched her cheek. "Do you know, I've never woken up next to you like this? In a proper bed?" He smiled. "Gods, but it's... nice. It's really nice. I had no idea it would be this nice."

"Mmm," Dagna said and smiled back at him. Then she propped herself up on her elbows, and looked at him sideways. "Wait. Did you just say 'gods'?"

"Yes. Yes, I did." Finn's hand went to the the small symbol of Zazikel hanging from his neck. He pulled it free from his shirt and held it out to her. "Dagna, I have something to tell you. I'm a polytheist. I worship the old gods."

Dagna snorted. "Really? I didn't think anyone worshipped the old gods anymore. What with the taint and all." She arched a brow. "You heretic."

Finn nodded. "Yes, I _am_ a heretic. I've always kept it a secret but I realize we aren't in the Tower anymore so I might as well shout it to the world. I pray to dragons!" Finn sat up. "I'm quite the secret rebel, actually. I helped Anders escape once, sort of by accident, but it still counts. And I know a bit of blood magic. I don't think all of it is evil." He stroked his chin. "Sometimes I even heal myself with it, if I cut myself shaving, or something."

"No!" Dagna laughed. "Finn, you're an apostate!"

"I'm _such_ an apostate." Finn was laughing too, and he pulled her back into his arms. She smelled warm and wholesome, like fresh apple pie. He let his voice drop into a growl. "Are you frightened?"

Dagna's smile grew wicked. "Oh yes." She took hold of his shirt with both fists and looked up into his eyes. "Terrified."

The look in her eyes was a winking promise, brazen, in a way that they'd never dared before, with the Templars always looking over their shoulders. Her hands were on him, and he realized there were probably a lot of things he'd never experienced in the Tower. And some of those things were more than nice.

-o-

"So what now?" Dagna asked.

Finn looked at Dagna and took a deep breath. This was the question of his life, he realized. His whole future was as wide open as the sky. He tried not to let it terrify him.

"Let's go down to the docks," he said, after some time. "See what ships are there. If we can get to Val Royeaux... well, maybe we should."

"Orlais, eh?" Dagna tilted her head. "Are we joining the rebellion?"

It seemed like the thing to do. All the other mages had gone to Orlais, after all. He looked at Dagna. "Is that what you want?"

Dagna sighed. "What I want doesn't exist anymore. I wanted to study magic in the Circle Tower, but that's gone. So I'll go with you, because that's the next best thing." She considered this for a moment before she frowned. "Oh, but boats? All that water beneath us?" Her eyes widened, and Finn realized she was probably remembering how they had almost drowned at Lake Calenhad. "That sounds worse than the sky."

Finn assured her that it wasn't, but really he had no idea.

-o-

Amaranthine was a bustling seaport, with dozens of ships at the docks, each one teeming with sailors and cargo. Finn was overwhelmed by all the noises and sounds and smells. He had never seen so many people all at once before.

At a trading post, an old man was arguing with a woman in Antivan. She smelled like smoked fish. Behind them two children played with a ball of twine, kicking it back and forth between them, shouting something in Nevarran. By the shore, a young woman perched on a sloop, weaving a net and singing a song in Rivaini. Finn heard more languages than he could recognize.

As they made their way down the docks, Finn noticed two rather greasy looking sailors sitting on a bench, one of them with a pint in his hands; the other looked like he'd finished a few already. Dagna moved closer to Finn, and he saw then they were staring at her. "Oy naine," one of them called, "venir ici, nous donner un baiser..."

The other lifted his stein. "Elle est à la bonne hauteur, hein?"

"A ha, ha ha, ce mec." They were looking at him now. "Il ne sait même pas que nous parlons de sa petite amie."

Dagna's fist tightened around his. "Do you know what they're saying?"

"Not exactly." Finn grimaced. He had never really learned Orlesian.

They fell to laughing again, clasping their stomachs and tipping back their heads, showing him two sets of yellow teeth. A cold feeling turned in his gut. One of the sailors whistled, and Finn gritted his teeth. "Quel enculé!"

Finn didn't know what that meant either. He took Dagna's hand and strode past them, telling himself that he would just have to learn.

The first ship they saw was a gulet, sleek and elegant, flying the exploded star emblem of the Tevinter Imperium. A merchant squawked prices from a post at the shore, and Finn caught the words for _bargain,_ and _vintage_; he gathered that he was selling alcohol. Despite their ill relations with the South, Tevinter still sold spirits in Amaranthine on a regular basis. Some rarified Fereldans had a taste for Tevinter's particular wine.

Finn smiled fondly, remembering how he had once bartered with Hadley to get him a bottle. He had traded him his favorite orichalc paperweight, only to find that the wine was past its prime, and gone to vinegar.

It was still good, though. With a sigh, Finn walked on.

At the next pier, a tall brigantine bearing the sunburst insignia of Orlais was moored with military precision. They were privateers, Finn realized. He was surprised that Amaranthine would allow them to dock here, but then he realized they probably had no way to stop them. _Where does a company of pirates sit? Anywhere they want to. _

"This ship looks Orlesian..." Dagna said tentatively.

"It also looks dangerous," Finn said. "I'd rather find a merchant." She agreed.

Past this was a frigate from the Free Marches, a large black ship loaded with drakestone, copper and refugees. Many of the Fereldan expatriots were finally finding their way back south. There was nothing left for them in the Free Marches. Finn was about to pass it by when one of the refugees came up to him, looked him straight in the eye, and said, "Flora?"

Finn stopped and stared at him. The man was wearing all black, with long coat, and a fine, high-collared jacket long since spoiled by wear. His shoulders were covered in something that might once have been feathers. He was so thin, and dirty, it took Finn more than a moment to recognize him.

"Anders?" he said finally.

The other man coughed, and then nodded.

"Anders? Not _that_ Anders?" Dagna's mouth widened. Finn took him by the arm and pulled him back into the shadow of the ship.

"What are you doing here?"

The question seemed to take him by surprise. "I... I don't know," Anders said. "I thought everything would be better when the Towers fell, you know? I never..." He seemed to lose his train of thought. "I just don't know what comes next."

It was just as Rylock had said. "And so now you're in Amaranthine."

"Yeah." Anders shrugged. "I guess I thought I might find Faren, hook up with the Wardens again. Maybe they could help me."

"Am I the only one who remembers that Faren went through the eluvian?" Finn sighed. "Anders, you can't be here. Rylock is looking for you. It isn't safe."

Anders' eyes widened. "Princess Pluck herself? Really?" He let out a laugh. "Can't believe she's still carrying a torch."

"You'd be surprised how much ardor blowing up a Chantry can inspire. You'll never make it to Vigil." Finn chewed his lip, considering. "You should come with us."

"Finn..." Dagna warned, but Anders was already shaking his head.

"No. I'd only put you in danger," he said. "They'll never stop hunting me. Thank you for the offer, but..." Anders stared off into the distance. "It's a strange feeling, you know. When I did it, I had Justice inside me, telling me it was the only way. I was only my cause, and that gave me such clarity. But now I don't..." His voice trailed off.

"Don't tell me you're having second thoughts," Finn said.

"No. Never." Anders shook his head. "But I never expected to survive, is the thing. I was supposed to be a martyr. I still don't understand why Marian didn't kill me." He looked down at the ground, worrying the sand with the toe of his boot. "I think... maybe I should just let Rylock catch me."

Finn did not know how to respond. He remembered how vibrant Anders had been, back in the Tower. Even on the day he came out of solitary, he had been smirking, and yet Finn saw then that he was also trapped in his own rhythms, just like everybody else.

Anders reached behind his back, and handed Finn a staff. "Here, take this," he said. "It belonged to friend of mine, but ah... well, we aren't on speaking terms anymore. And I'd rather you have it than Rylock."

The staff was huge, and bright gold, topped with an unexpectedly naked woman; the designer had obviously enjoyed an even closer relationship with his staff than Finn. It was typically garish, but Finn could tell it was also very powerful. Perhaps even more powerful than Vera, he thought, though it felt unfaithful to think that. Finn didn't realize how much he had missed holding a staff, but he had, and he felt complete again with the instrument in his hands.

"You'll need to hide that," Dagna said. She handed him the apron from her dress, and he quickly wrapped it and slung it over his back.

He looked back at Anders. "Thank you," he said.

Anders nodded, and Finn ran a hand through his hair. He couldn't think of anything else to say: 'good luck' or 'see you later' seemed really stupidly optimistic. Anders kicked a small rock and looked up.

"Are you happy that you're free, at least?" he asked, finally. "Did I give the world that much?"

Finn bit his lip. "Sure, Anders," he said. Anders smiled faintly and then mumbled a farewell. Finn watched him shamble off.

"We should keep moving," Dagna said, and after a moment they continued on down the docks, searching for their deliverance.

They found a merchant ship at the last pier, a Rivaini trader that was headed to Val Chevin. The sailors chattered in their native tongue, as foreign to Finn as Orlesian had been. He would never fit into Orlais, he realized. Even if he learned the language, with his accent he would be marked as a foreigner almost immediately, and a mage not long after. He would always be running. He stopped, looking over the boat, wondering what the templars in Orlais did to fugitive mages when they found them.

"This one, then?" Dagna asked, beside him. Finn didn't answer immediately, and Dagna cocked her head to the side. "I don't think we'll find a better option."

Finn nodded slowly. "You're right, of course. We won't find a better way to Orlais." He frowned, and thought of Anders, and how lost he was. He didn't want to lose himself like that. He said, "I'm beginning to think we shouldn't go to Orlais."

Dagna looked at him curiously, and Finn took a deep breath. A plan was sparking in his mind. He looked back down the docks, back to the lovely Tevinter gulet floating high in the water at the first pier. He touched the amulet of Zazikel through his doublet.

"How would you like to go to Minrathous?"

"Minrathous?" Dagna was skeptical. "You fancy yourself a magistrate now?"

"Well... no. Not exactly. I haven't developed a sudden hankering for slaves, or world domination, or anything." His brow furrowed. "But the thing is, I think that if I went to Orlais, I would just be doing the same as everyone expects of me. And that is only another cage."

"And you wouldn't want to do something just because Kinnon thought it was a good idea."

"Exactly." Finn looked back at her, and she smiled. "But if I went to Tevinter, well. I think I might make sense in Tevinter. I speak their language, albeit the language they spoke a thousand years ago, but still. It's a lot better than my Orlesian. And I think I could be of use, maybe I could be a liaison to the revolution, help fugitive mages hide out. No one would hunt us there." And this was the real appeal, he realized. In Tevinter he could return to some of the security he had known in the Tower, without any of the restrictions or slights. It was something he hadn't known he'd wanted. "We could have a life, Dagna. A real life."

Finn reflected on the idea, and it grew on him more as he thought about it. He smiled at her. "And the libraries they have in Tevinter," he said breathlessly. "The whole Circle Tower library could fit inside the antiquities section at the Argent Spire."

Dagna's eyes lit up. "Oh, _Finn_," she said, and Finn could see then that she had not really wanted to go to Orlais, either. For the first time in days, she looked like herself again. She began to bounce on her toes. "Can you imagine all the Imperium artifacts that must need cataloguing?"

"I know!" Finn took his hands in hers. "The magisterial reliquaries alone!"

And so it was settled. With the last of her money, Dagna secured passage on the Tevinter gulet at a very competitive rate, and in a few hours they were off. The sailors cast off, the sails filled, and they set out to sea. As set out, Dagna stood on the prow, her hands gripping the railing so tightly that her knuckles were white. Finn moved to stand beside her, resting one hand on the rail and the other on her waist.

"I'm told a gulet is the safest way to travel," he said

She managed a smile and assured him, "I'll be fine. Just takes some getting used to." She looked up at the open sky, yawning and cavernous above them. "We haven't fallen in yet."

Finn laughed. He scratched at the raw bite on his arm. "Been eaten alive, though. I wonder if there are less bugs in Tevinter?"

"Probably not." Dagna smiled. "But you'll learn to cope."

The Amaranthine Ocean was vast, and though there was no land in sight, there were other ships in the distance, slashes of sails and trim hulls balanced on the knife-edge of the horizon. One of the sailors loosed another sail, and the gulet picked up speed. They cut out of the bay, leaving Ferelden behind, perhaps forever. His heart raced. He was terrified, he had no idea what was going to happen to him, but he realized also that he was excited beyond reason. He was going to Tevinter, home of Nedarius and eluvians and the cult of Lusacan and all those things he had always dreamed of but never thought he would see himself. And he had a staff, now, and a plan, and he was not alone.

Beside him, Dagna closed her eyes and let go of the railing, tentatively, but the sky did not swallow her up, and after a moment Finn let go, too. He spread his hands.

"Did you mean what you said to Anders, back there?" Dagna asked. "Are you really glad you're free?"

Finn drew a long breath. "Yes," he said. And the ship sailed on, bearing them onward to where the endless ocean met the infinite sky, to the edge of the world.


End file.
